Shadon scouted a bit ahead of the Sabora, making sure if there were any traps to be held, he would be the first one inflicted. The large hellion stepped quietly through the lush forest, ears changing directions constantly, eyes tunnel gazed out into the messy battlefield. The sounds of distant cries and howls made his skin crawl with excitement. The iron smell in the air was enough to make him go insane; in fact he was on the edge with his lips peeled back in a half snarl, half smile, slinking its way further and further up on his face, though not quite yet into his famous knife-cut grin. Saliva dripped, his body almost letting out a growling whine as he wanted to charge forward into someone, teeth throbbing and skin itching for flesh. To any Inarian, he was definitely a sight to behold — a large, gray hellion with a rack of bone upon his back and one more tied into his thick mane. Red tattoos illuminated his face, contrasting against his darker fur.

Finally, the War Captain paused, lifting his head high into the air as he surveyed the air around him. His panting ceased as he tried to stay quiet, listening to any scurrying that may be coming their way. Emerald eyes would turn to Sol Katti, just knowing where she was positioned before he turned his head the other way. Eventually, one would come, and when they did, Shadon laughed in delight before he surged forward. Whichever one was closer, he would aim for, his body not stopping or hesitating to attack.

His body would slam into the other, teeth snapping to latch onto something —flesh or bone. He would possibly sweep his head to the side toward the opponent, perhaps latching onto their shoulder or ribs. His movements were frenzied, almost uncoordinated, yet he was powerful and unafraid in his actions. If he did miss, Shadon was rabid enough to keep lunging forward, snapping and snarling. Although he wanted to effing kill whoever he wanted, he also wanted the enjoyment of spilling blood before he ripped out someone’s throat.

If the Sabora called to him, he would immediately turn, but for now, he was determined to slowly eat someone alive.

All my life I've been debatingAll the crows they sit there waitingWondering what I'm going to eatUntil I have it I can't breathe

I only see you on the floorYour hearts not beating anymoreMy lust for you it cannot waitYour skin it tastes like chocolate

⇢ played by gothy.Anything this character does, does not reflect OOC relations to the player. This character is played how he is supposed to be played. Please do not assume I as the player reflect any OOC onto him.

The wolves who'd come to their peaceful forest were half-rabid - they were mangled things, slavering for blood to lubricate the horrid machine that was their kingdom. They had marked themselves in red, the tattoos served the purpose marking their dominance among each other, but it also served the purpose of marking which of their ilk were officers and therefore more worthy of Haven's ... attention.

Her eyes met with those of a hellhound, adorned with his red tattoos, and they charged at one another. The action converted all their personalities and goals and hopes and strengths and tendernesses into two respective vectors: summed up as direction and magnitude. Their force and their angle. Haven had long ago learned that while in life what mattered was who was kind and who was cruel, in battle the only thing that mattered was power.

She felt his teeth slam into her ribs, and she returned the favor by snapping hard and fast at his shoulder, hoping to rend some muscle there into chuck, hoping to hobble him. Shadon was obviously a ferocious wolf, skilled and physically strong, but Haven was no stranger to battle herself. Her golden coat did nothing to offset the grimness of her expression.

He lashed at her again, and she returned it, blow for blow, dodging where she could and hitting where she could. The queen had for the moment set her crown and adornment to the side, choosing to be not a queen now, but a paladin.

Haven was not a religious sort, but her cause was as close to holy as a cause might have come. She would protect her innocent people, her good people, from the monsters like this one.

Teeth felt the softness of flesh slide between them, his jaws clamping down by her ribs and head ripped away, taking flesh as she had taken his from the shoulder. Adrenaline and excitement masked the pain for now, as he pushed forward even more. The queen and cannibal wardog was head-to-head, teeth lashing and chomping down at every chance they got. He didn’t know it, but the royal blood in his mouth was precious and he yearned for more, always for more as he desired nothing more than to hear screams of agony as he gored away their life.

Shadon swung his head back at her, hoping to hit her back thigh — the gap between her knee and stomach. If he managed to grasp her, he’d try to pull and get her down on her back, a disadvantage, but if he managed to miss, he’d try to grab at her front leg, still trying to get her off balance. Haven might have had more height, if even by a fraction, but they were tied in weight. Neither of them were heavier or lighter than the other, this was a fair playing field for them. This was a battle between Inarian honor and Saboran strength. One was violent while the other noble, defending the weak against the villains.

The War Captain did not dodge her, he wasn’t afraid of being attacked, all he cared about was getting her down on her back and hopefully pinning her in order to gut or choke her. If Haven managed to stand her ground, he would wait for an opportunity; he would wait patiently for the perfect opening, allowing her to snap at him willingly just so the hellion could take a small window of possibility.

There was nothing stopping him, not even death.

Logged

S H A D O N ♜

All my life I've been debatingAll the crows they sit there waitingWondering what I'm going to eatUntil I have it I can't breathe

I only see you on the floorYour hearts not beating anymoreMy lust for you it cannot waitYour skin it tastes like chocolate

⇢ played by gothy.Anything this character does, does not reflect OOC relations to the player. This character is played how he is supposed to be played. Please do not assume I as the player reflect any OOC onto him.

(500 years later – please don’t feel obligated to reply but man I needed to catch up on Trice posts.)

Was Saboro surprised at the gentle nation’s viciousness? Cockatrice, had he paused since setting foot on the battlefield, would have been proud at Inaria’s ferocity and disappointed at its necessity – but there had been no time for thought or reprieve, only instinct and action. Gone were the days when the country’s army could spare its innocents from this bloody war. Every able body had risen to the cause, red of tooth and claw behind Ghost and Haven both, and the royal guardsman was no exception. Cockatrice was no politician, no poet. There was little change between the Fringe dire of the borders and the one found here behind his Queen – steely eyed and teeth at the ready, he waded through the reaping fields like he belonged.

Perhaps he did. Perhaps this world made more sense to him than peacetime; there was a line of blood drawn across his forehead and crimson lining the edge of his gums, but Trice seemed no worse for wear. Always at the corner of his vision, somewhere in his periphery, was the golden arrow of Haven. She was not a weakness – she was his duty. That responsibility kept him close, but it was not until she closed with the black-horned monster that the soldier made any attempt to interfere, his heart pounding and eyes wild.

Trice dove into the fray without hesitation, appearing at Haven’s side low to the ground and teeth snapping, the whole of his weight thrown forward like a battering ram. It was a dangerous gamble, but the wolf had committed; he would grab and reach for the War Captain’s nearest foreleg and bear down with every pound of pressure in his powerful jaws, head shaking violently to tear and twist. Paw or ankle, muscle or bone – he would crack bone and pop joints, shredding flesh and flaying sin, looking for any grip that would allow him to at best cripple and at worst force the hellhound to dance away at the Queensguard’s command.

And behind that blow still came the momentum of his forward charge, ready to throw Shadon off his feet by ripping his leg out from under him, or simply bowl the Captain over should his searching jaws remain empty. Saborans seemed eager to wear red with such pride – and Cockatrice was only happy to oblige them.

Logged

Did you get used to it, or are you still up with the demons all night?Did you get used to it, or do you still feel like the world is unkind?